


What Really Matters

by Foxbear



Series: Demon in a Bottle [3]
Category: Lost in Space (TV 2018)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fix-It, Friendship, Help, Hurt/Comfort, Irony, Love, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Mistakes, Other, Regret, The Author Regrets Nothing, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22697890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxbear/pseuds/Foxbear
Summary: Ben Adler wakes up and is thoroughly surprised that he did. However who he was and what he did haunt him like ghost in his dreams and while awake. Getting rid of the rotten parts of  your soul is a lot harder than getting rid of the dead parts of your body.In which Scarecrow wasn't going to let Ben just die and has access to a cybernetics lab.
Series: Demon in a Bottle [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721167
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32
Collections: Demon in a Bottle





	1. Chapter 1

**What Really Matters**

**A Lost in Space Fanfiction**

**Chapter 1**

_Ben held the cool metal of the probe in his hand and wondered where the pain was coming from._

_This won’t hurt. I promise. Scarecrow stared up at him with a trusting smile on his face as he brought the metal down on the back of his head. The bit caught in his fine black hair as it began to spin. Hair? Scarecrow didn’t…the bit scraped against the smooth metal plates.  
This won’t hurt. I promise. Horror boiled up in his gut as he realized what he was doing. He frantically tried to remove the probe, but the metal caught on the edge of the plates and wouldn’t come out. Daddy, what are you doing? His head snapped up. His boy, his little boy was standing across the room from him in his pajamas, his silk fringed blanket dangled to the floor._

_Odd, he thought his boy had given up his security blanket…Daddy, what are you doing? He felt the metal of the probe in his hands, it was cool, it burned, sent throbbing pain up to his shoulder. He isn’t in any pain, he lied. Daddy, the voice came from somewhere else now. His boy at the door was just staring at him, at his hands. He followed the sound of the other voice. His boy. Down, down to where his hands held the probe. Scarecrow was gone. His boy…no, no, no… his mind screamed in agony._

_This couldn’t be real, it wasn’t real._

The dream dissolved as he fought his way to consciousness. The pain grew with every second until it was a blinding presence. He localized it to one arm. It hurt. It hurt worse than anything he had ever experienced. The world swam around him in a wash of colors he couldn’t see, let alone name. He forced his eyes open to dispel the illusion and was only partly successful. But now at least he could see, could see something. 

He was in a dim place. Shadows danced to the flickering of artificial lights. Rocks were the first things his mind recognized. The walls were made of rocks. There were made things too, but the things were warped and dim. His eyes refused to focus on them. With every blink they seemed to change. His hand cramped in a fresh spasm of pain and he forced his head to turn towards it. He couldn’t find his hand. The cramp came again and he tried to flex his hand, to relieve the cramp and to figure out where it was. But the cramp continued unabated and he couldn’t see any movement. 

Except something charred and blackened gave a slight spasm. The odd movement, like a misaligned servo caught his attention. His vision cleared a bit and he saw cables. Class 7 integration connection cables. Donated and grafted, not grown, but only recently regenerated. They must have come from a much older donor. The bases were wide and dark, the connective ends tapered and gleaming. They looked freshly charged too. He wondered what they were doing there. They seemed to be wrapped around the blackened thing. Was it some sort of storage and transport device that had over loaded?

One of the cables suddenly flickered with light. An automated activation. The confirmation tone chimed approvingly. The activation conditions had been met. The cable was to proceed. It suddenly struck him how very odd it was that he could hear the machine cables talking to each other. However fascination gripped him, dismissing the thoughts, as the activated cable reared back like a snake and then surged forward, burrowing into the blackened thing. He caught a flash of pink, of white. Then the blinding pain came back. Just before he lost awareness he realized he must be dreaming and fought to stay in this mental state. He was telepathically linked with machines! This was so cool…in real life he couldn’t. 

No, cold hard reality whispered to him. In real life he had betrayed…he let oblivion take him again. 

It was pain that woke him again. This time he recognized the difference between the dream state and reality. The knowledge came at a cost. The dream was fragments. Hiding the probe in his hands. His boys bent over some project on the floor of their hub. Her laughter as she…Something, a feeling of rightness. His mind slipped to the fog of waking, from which the half remembered dream threads fled. He opened his eye and stared slackly ahead, too tired to do more. 

The difference between the rock walls and the not-rock walls was stronger now. He felt, awake. Fatigue infused his every nerve. The pain that had driven him awake was coming from his arm. His right arm. He idly thought about pulling it around to examine but up and down were wrong in that way they often were when you woke, unable to sleep more, but unequal to actually getting up. The surface before his eye shifted from a rock ceiling to a rock wall and back again.

But at least they were staying rocks. Reality was warping under them, creating patterns and swirls that didn’t really affect the surface of what he was seeing. But he was used to that. It happened quite frequently in the days before he had met her. When he would spend days awake, powered by those awful drinks that were popular in his Uni days. They were illegal now, back on Earth. At least he thought they were. She had put a stop too all that when the boys came. 

The fond memory tried to drift off into a dream but then he heard the cables activate again. It was a class three neural connector this time. There was a flicker of an idea this time. It tasted like the warning labels on those old drinks. A hint of the possibility of consequences. Then his entire right side erupted in a burning wave of pain. He gasped and came aware that he was breathing. He turned his head to look at the source of the pain. The class three neural connector was burrowing into that blackened thing. Writhing up under the charred surface. Wait, why was the pain coming from there? From that thing? He shouldn’t be able to feel that unless…

His mind broke under the sudden wash of half formed conclusions. The cables were donated and grafted…

_Who…Why…He didn’t deserve…was it kindness or retribution? Who would waste materials on vengeance? But why? He wasn’t worthy…He had betrayed…_

_“This isn’t about you!” She nearly snarled through her tears._

_“No,” he agreed. “This is about them. But…_

The dream state lingered far longer than was possible on her face, half accusing, half hoping. 

_By all that was good he didn’t deserve her. But then, it wasn’t about him…_

There wasn’t a transition this time. He knew what that meant. He had slept as long as he could. His body couldn’t get anymore benefit from dropping him into that state. He stared at the things that made up the walls. He could hear them he realized. That is why they shifted just below his eyes. The actual, physical presence didn’t move. But the cable spinner to his left hadn’t been activated for generations and was complaining about being put to use after so long and with no activation codes. It noticed he was paying attention and suddenly demanded his activation codes. It would settle the conflict in its systems. Ben smiled at the machine. He wondered how much of what he was hearing in its strange under-voice was actually in its programming and how much he was projecting. It demanded his activation codes again. Ben blinked and was overwhelmed by the other colors again. He didn’t know how long he drifted in confusion but the persistent nagging of the cable spinner drew him out again. Ben very deliberately focused on his social security number, birth date, and full name. The cable spinner, fell silent, sputtered in a static of confusion a moment and then fell silent.

Ben shivered at the suddenly empty sensation from where the cable spinner had been, clearly still was. The motion tugged against something and he became aware that he was restrained. He flexed against the bonds holding him and immediately regretted it. Pain lanced through his body from multiple points. The pain did however seem entirely unconnected to the restraints. A little more experimental wriggling told him he was being held against a hard surface at a shallow angle. The surface seemed sculpted to his body, not flat. However before he could do anything with this information fatigue swept over him like a wave. Something very close to the nape of his neck chirped a warning out. He shouldn’t be expending energy like that…

_“and this form means that you should hold the cables at this angle.” Scarecrow was explaining as he lifted Ben’s arm in demonstration._

_Ben nodded enthusiastically. The stabbing pain in his arm was distracting. But as long as Scarecrow didn’t notice. His friend went on explain the meaning of the visual term. Ben was having a harder time focusing as the pain flowed up his arm towards his hand._

_“-need you to flex the new fingers now Ben,” Scarecrow was saying gently._

_Ben felt a stab of wild panic. He wasn’t sure why. The request was entirely reasonable. But if, if Scarecrow looked at his hand he would see. He would know. Ben tightened his fingers around the probe. It was too large. One hand couldn’t cover it. Scarecrow was gently prying his fingers apart. But he hadn’t seen yet. He didn’t know what Ben had done. But how could he not know? Ben could suddenly see the wound. He gripped the probe harder. If he could bring his other arm around, maybe with both hands he could hide-_

_“Ah, is your bi-lateral symmetry interfering?” Scarecrow’s voice asked gently._

_Ben wondered how he could hear him without looking at his face. How could he hear him at all? How had Scarecrow not seen what was in his hand? He couldn’t have seen. He wouldn’t be speaking in that tone if he had. Maybe he could still hide-_

_“Maybe I can work with that instead of against it?” Scarecrow’s voice asked. “Let’s try it anyway.”_

_Foggy static began to rise between Ben and Scarecrow’s voice. Scarecrow still stood in front of him, bending over the hand that held the probe._

_“Going-open-repeat.” Scarecrow was saying._

“No!” Ben gasped out as Scarecrow finally managed to pull his fingers open. 

It wasn’t really intelligible, more of a coughing gurgle that leaned heavily on the ‘o’ vowel, but for all its failings the word worked like a spell in the old tales. The dream cleared and Ben felt a wash of shameful relief as the dream of Scarecrow faded. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t. He forced his eyes open, focused on the rocks and waited for the things to stop shifting. He waited. But instead of shifting the things grew more clear. Especially the big shiny thing that was holding the tangle of cables that wrapped around and through the blackened thing. 

The blackened thing. That was somehow much easier to focus on. The cables were secured in it now. Pink lines surrounded where each cable entered. The end of the blackened thing was now completely wrapped in cables. The curled over and around themselves. Ben’s hand cramped and this time he noted how the cables tightened in time with the pain. Oh. So then. The blackened thing was his … arm he supposed. Phantom pain then. He clearly didn’t have a hand any more. 

A bronze talon came into view and the backside of it gently caressed the tangle of cables. The talon, it was blackened too. Scorched in places as if it had taken damage. But away from the scorches it gleamed the same brilliant bronze as his donated cables. Something buzzed at the back of his mind insistently. Ben focused on the gleaming bronze tip of one talon as it gently tracked back and forth across his cables. 

He could feel it he suddenly realized. He could feel the soothing slide of warm, living metal against his tender cables. The talon stilled and Ben suddenly missed the stroking contact but his eyes stayed on the gleaming metal. The talon tip waved back and forth a moment and then slowly pulled away. Ben followed it with his eyes, feeling a growing sense of dread. The talon stopped right in front of Ben and he knew very well that he would eventually have to stop looking at the burnt, bronze metal and face what was behind it. He could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He tried to swallow and for the first time remembered that his throat was dry. His lungs gave a weak, peremptory spasm that cost him his focus on the talon. His eyes focused on dense white bands of light that flowed with soft concern. The complex bands slowly separated and simplified into distinct concept forms. 

“Query. Your knowledge. I. Cherished one?” the face asked.


	2. Chapter 2

**What Really Matters**

**Chapter 2**

Something curled in Ben’s chest and he idly wondered if one of those cables had borrowed into his heart. Something was constricting it painfully. Thankfully his lungs and diaphragm decided that he needed a distraction and with acute stabs of pain across his body he broke into a fit of mixed coughing and sneezing that closed his eyes…an eye…one refused to close, refused to lose sight of the cursed compassion in that face. But one eye closed and his mind couldn’t focus on what the other revealed through the waves of pain.

Then the pain was gone. He was floating in a blissful cloud. Nothing touched him. Nothing. That face danced just out of his awareness. He knew he would care. There would be strong emotions after, after the cloud was gone. Synthetic morph-class drugs. His mind provided helpfully. Designed to eliminate pain and keep the mind clear. If he was this out of it he must have been exposed to a massive overdose. 

The face moved closer and he was distantly aware that his mouth was gently pried open and something was placed against his teeth.

_Mist._

_Water._

He was being watered like he used to water his pet hognose snake. He wanted to laugh. But synthetic morph-class drugs were good. The best. He could only manage a gurgle.

He woke to another coughing fit. There were water droplets on his eyelids and he tried to blink them away. Someone brought up a cloth and gently dabbed at his eyes. Ben drew in a long breath and was pleased to note that he could feel the air passing though his nose. Scarecrow must have finally gotten the dose right. In that moment the full reality of the situation, as much as he could make of it, hit him. His breath caught and he went limp in his restraints. Funny thing about synthetic morph-class drugs. They had been very, very specifically designed to not affect emotional pain. That little development did wonders for the addiction rates. Ben found himself wondering if it was worth it as his heart seemed to compress even as his pulse skyrocketed. 

Scarecrow drew away the cloth and stared at his face intently. White bands, like distant wisps of clouds swirled across his face. 

_Concern. Distress. Compassion._

“Don’t,” Ben tried to say. 

_Please don’t waste your distress on me. Please._

It came out as a croak. Scarecrow’s face danced with sudden exasperation and fondness. Words, ideas flashed across the orb. 

“Humans compared to his own kin. Exasperating. Difficult.” Scarecrow said. 

Ben couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. Scarecrow took that opportunity to place a squirt bottle against his teeth and spray some lightly lemon scented water into his mouth. 

“Lemon?” Ben asked in confusion once he had swallowed. 

Scarecrow’s face suddenly changed as all four arms recoiled to a resting position.

“Really? Time. Past. Wasted. That. Focus.” Scarecrow said. 

Ben blinked and wondered why the words were so disjointed. Then reality smacked him in the face and he wondered how he understood any of it at all. Yes, they had worked together on translating the language of lights years ago, but he couldn't remember deciphering them this easily. Or even more pressing…

“Why,” he whispered. “How am I alive?” 

_Really?_   
Scarecrow’s face and body language demanded. But Scarecrow’s expressions seemed to pull in on themselves. Ben realized he was pondering how to answer in this broken language that was all they had at the moment. Finally Scarecrow indicated himself, then flexed the metal of his central mass out. He indicated Ben and then mimed placing something in the cavity formed at his core. Ben blinked, his mind processing this. He supposed. He supposed Scarecrow could have made a decent Faraday cage out of his own body. But the air would have still been super heated around them, and the way Ben had left him...guilt as familiar as the touch of his sons’ hands surged up and choked him. Scarecrow was staring at him expectantly now, expecting a response. 

“Why?” Ben managed to blurt out. 

He wasn’t certain if the pain that swirled across his vision was his own or Scarecrow’s but thankfully dizziness and then sleep took him again. 

He woke up with a dull throbbing in his arm where the donated cables were wiring into his bones. There was a maddening itching across the skin and he heard the chittering of the plating shifting to cover the exposed sections of the blackened stumps. The plating sounded … satisfied … for lack of a less anthropomorphic word. They had fully completed their task despite there being so few of them. They were now busily growing connective fibers. They would soon have to tap into his own metals for that but for now they could rely on the mass stored from the donation. 

And there was the clear distinction between physical pain, dulled by the synth, and the keen distress of mental anguish. There was literally only one robot in the universe who could have, would have donated, anything to him. But why? After everything Ben had done. Every way he had failed. He deserved nothing. The voice of his other half whispered gently that it wasn’t about what he deserved now was it? Ben took a shaky breath. It caught on his dry throat. He was surprised first to find that his throat wasn’t immediately misted. Then surprised to find that he expected that small act of compassion and care. Was he really that much of an entitled monster? He forced his eyes open, and as things came in focus realized that only clarified things. Fascinated by this discovery he blinked several times. His right eye. It wouldn’t close. He closed his left eye and focused on the new input. 

The plates covering his arm woke him with their complaining. They had run out of donated material and were requesting permission to begin scavenging. Something was preventing them. Ben somehow sensed the blockage and mentally probed at it. 

“No. Ben Adler.” 

The words rang through his head so powerfully they were almost real. He gasped and reared his head back, eye flying open. His hands clenched and dull pain tore through his body. He gasped in pain now and something caught his eye. An IV bag hung from one of the things. It was marked as a synth-morph mix and apparently the dosage was too low now. Ben’s vision blurred and he took a steadying breath. The thing it was hanging from. It was a medical grade repair lift. He let his eyes wander over the intricate network of cables and connectors. It was strong. Far over rated for holding up a simple IV bag. Ben wondered how he knew that. 

Then he wondered how he knew anything. _How was he alive?_ That was a good place to start. Clearly Scarcrow had rescued him from the lightening storm. Scarecrow had used his own broken body as a faraday cage to shield Ben from the very power that had healed the alien life. But the lightening should have super heated the air around them to rival the surface of the sun. Even protected from the electrical discharge the heat should have turned Ben’s human flesh to ash. The super heated air should have suffocated him if it didn’t cook him. However this train of thought was beginning to grow tiresome. He was alive, the pain in his hand proved it. It was best to accept the current reality and move on. 

Scarecrow had saved him, no matter how many laws of physics Scarecrow had had to bend and break to do it, he had saved Ben. The question of why came with so much pain attached that his body tried to curl around it. This caused a wave of physical pain that was just sharp enough to be distracting, but not enough to distract him from the cold hard truth. He had been complicit in the imprisonment and torture of a person. A person he had called a friend. He had known. The entire time he had known. His mind tried to justify his actions. The vast majority of the data had pointed to Scarecrow being a machine. Everyone else had agreed that Scarecrow was a machine. 

Ben found himself staring over at the complaining plates on his missing hand. There was no longer any blackened flesh visible. The cables rose smoothly out of brilliant bronze metal plates. Donated. They were fully formed. Ben wondered how he knew this. He could feel their soft chatter buzzing in the back of his awareness and he supposed they had told him.

_It’s not about you,_ whispered a voice. _Focus on the one you owe a duty to._

Scarecrow had saved Ben from the human’s own impulsive actions. Scarecrow had shielded him with his own metal and frame. Scarecrow was currently pulling pieces off of his own, newly restored, body to supply what Ben needed. Ben drew in a shaky breath and wished desperately for the oblivion of sleep. He flexed against his restraints in irritation and gasped as the pain came back stronger. He glanced over at the IV and noted that it was still nearly a quarter full. He slumped back and stared up at the rock. For the first time it occurred to him to wonder where Scarecrow was. The room, or cave, he was in was too small to hide even a boy of Will’s size. The chattering of the things that lined the walls told him there was nothing behind him but walls and the bed he was secured to. 

So where was Scarecrow? He supposed he could reach out over their bond. Try to do what Will had done. But he shrank away from the idea. He didn’t deserve…the gently scolding voice of his wife came back to him and he smiled weakly. Should he try to contact Scarecrow? Clearly Scarecrow was taking good care of him. Would any feedback Ben could offer make that task easier? His rough and irritated throat aside he was alive and conscious. It wouldn’t make sense for Scarecrow to abandon him. No matter how much he might deserve it. 

Ben sighed and corrected the thought before the other voice could. No, but Scarecrow doubtless had a good reason for his disappearance. Unbidden memories swarmed up of all the times Scarecrow had acted without reason. Ben bit back a cry as a shiver drew pain, current and remembered from his body. But no, Scarecrow had had a reason. He was a prisoner. He was being restrained, tortured. But still, that didn’t explain even a fraction of what Ben had observed. There was a clear difference between objecting to your treatment and blindly following useless programs. Still-

Ben cut off that line of thought with a harsh gasp. He had been wrong. Will, Will’s Robot, had proved him wrong. That plea Robot had made right before the door’s closed. That had come from a person. Scarecrow was a person. Scarecrow had saved him. There must be a reason for leaving Ben alone with nothing but his regrets here in this cave. 

A fresh stab of pain from somewhere around his back took Ben’s breath away and he lay there gasping for a long moment. In the silence he heard the cables in his arm chattering to the plates. They were … warning the plates? Ben focused on trying to understand the signals, wondering how he could hear their communication. His eyes followed the cables from the tangle at the end of his arm, up the foreshortened length of his forearm, now covered in Scarecrow’s donated plates, over the bend were his elbow probably was, up the pink and black mess of his biceps, onto his shoulder, and out of sight. Something itched momentarily under his ear and he thoughtfully blinked his left eye.   
It was something to think about. Something to distract him. Distract him from the pain of his body and the strange input from his right eye. Distract him from his guilt. Distract him from the several acts of true love and sacrifice he know very well he did not deserve. 

_Well, so what if you don’t deserve it,_ his wife’s voice said. _What does that matter?_

Ben’s lips twisted in a smile as he focused on the class c cable that was getting vexed about not being able to communicate with his bone properly. 

Time stretched on in a blur of slowly increasing pain and constant speculation. He wondered if Will had made it back safely to his family. There was another thing to fill him with guilt. He had taken that boy into danger. He would have felt fully justified in kicking John Robinson out the airlock if he had run off with his boys like that. He supposed dealing with the senior Robinson’s was simply one more thing he had to look forward to. Except that the Robinsons, all the colonists, would be well on their way to Alpha Centauri by now. They would be there. Will would be telling his boys-

The full weight of what he had done, the burden he had placed on a twelve year old boy suddenly slammed into Ben and he groaned. The groan turned into a cough that wracked his body. Still, after the pain had faded to an ignorable level the thought remained. He had asked a twelve year old boy to tell his family he was dead. To tell his family he had committed terrible crimes. To give his family what was probably going to be restricted information and in doing so committing several crimes. And if Will was anything like what Ben imagined him to be, the boy would try. Robinsons didn’t seem terribly strict about little things like laws. Ben fought back another groan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

At least Will was safe. 

Safe on Alpha Centauri with his family. 

With his friend. 

Robot would be hailed as a hero. The Robinsons would make sure of that. Somehow Ben had no doubt that John Robinson would be far more capable of protecting Robot than he had been at protecting Scarecrow. There would be no enslavement for Will’s friend. Robot wouldn’t end up trapped and dying among aliens. The irony of his situation suddenly struck Ben as he ran his eyes over the donated cables. Here he was. A lone alien, at the mercy of his captors. Except Scarecrow hadn’t captured him. Scarecrow had rescued him. But again, hadn’t they, he, done that for Scarecrow at the beginning?

Ben felt something twist in his gut. Fear. He supposed he should simply hope that Scarecrow had more power than he had. More resolve or charisma, or whatever it was that Ben had lacked. Moral fortitude probably. Whatever weakness that had made everything go so wrong hopefully wasn’t something they shared. But should he really hope that? Wouldn’t it be better if Scarecrow was allowed some revenge? Some justice? Ben tried to swallow and couldn’t. 

One of the cables chirped as it activated and he felt a fresh stab of pain. He glanced over at the IV and grimly noted it was empty. His eyes followed the line down to where a cable had crimped it off a few inches from his good arm. A few inches of blood filled the tube and Ben blinked at it curiously. Was that supposed to happen? The cable tightened and the blood reversed back into his arm. Ben blinked at the pain but it was over soon. His eyes drifted back to the middle distance. 

Here he was; a lone alien at the mercy of a strange planet. He could only wait and see what his fate was to be. The pain, now undimmed by the synth began to gnaw at him from where the cables were integrating. He tried to swallow but without the IV it was getting harder. He didn’t know how long this state lasted. He slipped in and out of lucidity, reviewing each and every step he had taken down the path that led him here. Suddenly the waking nightmare was interrupted by a cheerful voice chattering away about infections. A very human voice. 

Ben jerked awake with a gasp and several things hit home at once. The pain, while not gone, was very manageable. He was fully hydrated and he drank in several long draughts of air through fully functional lungs with only the slightest tickle of a threatening cough. The ubiquitous light in the cave was dimmed, and he could blink with both eyes. This last caught his attention as he hadn’t even fully realized he had been missing that ability before. He blinked, and the wonderfully soothing nothingness of closed eyes greeted him. He blinked his right eye, and the world settled down into the blessedly normal color spectrum. He gave a weak laugh of delight that sent waves of mild pain dancing across his ribs. He blinked he left eye and the things on the wall came into focus. He knew what each of them were. Or at least he thought he did, felt that he did. They looked right like this. He stared at them with both eyes and wondered at that odd , reality shifting sensation. They didn’t move, he could see that, but reality warped under them. 

Gradually he became aware of a soft humming beside him. He blinked at the wall again, but the things had lost their fascination. His mind was clear. He was a grown man. It was time to face the music. He turned his head and looked at Scarecrow. 

“Hello cherished one,” Scarecrow said. 

Ben blinked again as he processed what was happening. The easy part. Scarecrow talked with his face. It was the first deduction he had made all those years ago in Canada. And now he could see that he had been right and wrong. The mass of information did come from the face. But there was sound too, subtle tones that went beyond human hearing. There was the play of Scarecrow’s electrical field. There was the way his plates lay. The way his plates flexed. There was how he held himself. The was so much. Scarecrow was clearly using artificially simple words to communicate but it was still overwhelming. Ben shuddered under the weight of the information. 

“Query. Your pain. Cherished one?” Scarecrow asked, leaning forward. 

That at least was fairly easy to figure out and easy to answer. 

“Everything,” he tried to say. 

But his voice was weak from disuse. He cleared his throat. There. That very specifically hurt. 

“Everything hurts,” he finally got out. 

Scarecrow’s face danced with concern and his thoughts turned to the IV. His lights sparked with a simple calculation and Ben stared in wonder as he watched the measurements of the synth and saline flow past, contrasted with what had to be the instructions Scarecrow was comparing them to. Scarecrow was wondering if he had gotten the dose wrong again. 

“No!” Ben insisted, pulling himself out of the analysis. “No more synth. I. I like how clear my mind is.” 

Scarecrow turned back to him with relief swirling across his face, but a question still lingered there. He wanted to know what had made Ben curl up on himself just now. 

“It was too much at once,” Ben said. “I, when you called me-“

Ben’s voice hitched as he recalled what Scarecrow had called him. It was one of the early concepts Ben had learned from Scarecrow. Before everything had gone wrong. Cherished one. Very close to friend in meaning, but more intense. Closer to family member. Ben swallowed and the searing pain in his throat had nothing to do with tissue damage. 

“Why did you call me that?” he finally gasped out. 

So much of him knew that there were a thousand other questions he should be asking right now. But he was in pain, he was weak. He needed…he didn’t know what he needed. Scarecrow stared at him and for the first time Ben realized that Scarecrow could, was, directly withholding something from him. The first layer of his lights was set in a look of near neutral compassion. Beneath it surged depths that Ben could only guess at. Scarecrow’s entire frame and plating network were carefully held to give nothing away. Finally Scarecrow looked away for a moment. All four hands flexed and for the first time Ben noted the regulation medical tablet held in one of the lower arms. 

Scarecrow turned back to him and his face was clear now. Ben could see right down to it depths and when the patterns moved they did so slowly and deliberately. 

“You. State of being. Positive. Cherished one,” Scarecrow said firmly. 

Ben’s incredulity must have been written on his face because Scarecrow stepped forward and knelt down so that their faces were on a level. Ben felt the living alien presence in a way he knew he hadn’t been able to before that night on the Amber planet. Scarecrow reached out and gently caressed the right side of Ben’s face. Ben felt a near overwhelming surge of reassurance and love that left him gasping. He hadn’t felt that since the boys were small. Since he was a struggling post-grad trying to make ends meet for four on a tiny stipend and a prayer. He stared up in wonder at the clear sincerity in Scarecrow’s face. 

“You. Query this state. Cherished one?” Scarecrow asked. 

Ben nodded mutely. He tried to speak, to explain that he had betrayed their friendship in so many ways, but Scarecrow silenced him with another of those emotion laden caresses. 

“Current state unalterable. Past stat unalterable,” Scarecrow said. “This is. More. We two sentient, sapient. Brings complex.” 

Scarecrow tensed in frustration and suddenly the careful phrases explodes in a fireworks display of colors and patterns. Ben could see the flow of ideas. He was only just beginning to understand this language but he could identify separate ideas now, even if he couldn’t understand them. After a moment Scarecrow stopped and shook his head, clearing the complex of speech. He refocused on Ben. 

“You. Cherished one. Accept. Sate of being present. Understand. State of being future,” Scarecrow said, emphasizing the mere words with another caress that carried a wash of affection. 

Scarecrow’s presence engulfed him, infusing him with certainty. Ben nodded. His throat was far too tight to speak. His body was trembling with fatigue. But in this moment all he could really be aware of was that he was loved, cherished. Scarecrow pulled his presence back, not withdrawing it entirely but pulling Ben’s attention up to his face. 

“Now,” Scarecrow said, his talons lingering on the side of Ben’s head. “Query. You. Live. Reasons.”

Ben blinked at him in blank confusion. 

“Query,” Scarecrow pressed. “You. Live?”

“That’s what I asked you,” Ben answered, certain he was missing something important. 

“ You.” Scarecrow said, looming over him and pushing a demand for a response across his field. “Possibility. Deliberate intent. Stop functioning. Past tense. No. No. No. Query. Reasons. Live.”

Ben slowly pondered the few words and the deeper context offered by Scarecrow’s presence. Slowly the light of understanding began to dawn. He felt the urge to defend himself. He had not meant to die there. He had been accepting of his fate. Of the cracked ribs and fresh scars that had made that frantic dash along the ring so taxing. Of the searing pain and weakness in his side that had warned him that an attempt back to the Jupiter would only result in him dying tired. Of the desperate desire for just a few more moments with his friend. But Ben wasn’t sure he could communicate that to Scarcrow, or even if he fully understood it himself. And for another matter Scarecrow’s demand was reasonable. At the very least he owed Scarecrow some reassurance. 

“I am-“ Ben started only to stumble in confusion at the disapproval that flashed clearly in Scarecrow’s face. 

_It’s not about you!_ Said the exasperated voice of his wife. 

Ben had a flickering and uncomfortable thought that he was outnumbered now. 

“My boys,” Ben said, desperately grasping at the easiest thing. “I need to see my boys. Their mother, my wife, the half of me still on Alpha Centauri. I have to fight. I will live. For them.” 

Ben felt something flicker to life within him, something warm and real that spread out from his heart to warm his chilled body. He saw something answering it from deep within Scarecrow’s face. 

“And you,” Ben said softly. “I have to keep my promise to you. There is still one that I haven’t broken yet.”

Scarecrow’s face flickered with something deep and complex, and Ben was sure there was pain in it, but Scarecrow only let the surface show his amused anticipation. 

“Energy consumption. Cherished ones,” Scarecrow said. “Play. Offspring.” 

Ben’s smile was genuine, as genuine as the pain that coiled in his chest. A picnic on the bank of the New Thames. Him lying on the blanket with his other half while Scarecrow played hide and seek with his boys. It was a pretty dream he had offered long ago, and he supposed it was more realistic now than when he had first spoken it. 

“Now. Repair,” Scarecrow said firmly. 

Scarecrow’s face exploded in a more complex series of ideas that Ben couldn’t follow. Something in it suggested Scarecrow was placing some duty on him. Ben supposed healing was a duty at this point. Then Scarecrow gave him one parting caress. This one was different. It felt more, normal for lack of a better word. It inspired a feeling of comfort, but did not convey it. 

Ben saw an odd reflection in Scarecrow’s face as he retreated and tried to make sense of the oval of lights. But it was beyond him at the moment. He heard the muttering about infections and realized it had never stopped. It was coming from the tablet Scarecrow held. Ben felt a warm glow at that. Scarecrow was learning about human medicine, for his sake he supposed, for his, and the boys, and their mother’s. Scarecrow sat the tablet down to reach up and adjust a series of IV bags hanging from where only the one had hung before. Finished with his task Scarecrow turned to go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

“Wait!” Ben suddenly gasped out. “Will Robinson! He got back to the _Resolute_ safely?” 

Scarecrow turned back to him and his face flashed with a firm positive. Ben slumped in relief and gave a weak laugh.

“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Scarecrow nodded and turned to go. He seemed almost a little hurried now. Ben was trying hard not to make any demands of one he already owed so much but-

“How do you know?” Ben asked. 

If the questions surprised Scarecrow, caused his spines to stiffen, it surprised Ben more. Ben knew he had n right to demand anything of Scarecrow. But he was so tired. And perhaps his mental filter wasn’t working correctly. Because he heard his voice keep going. 

“You saved me from the lightening. You brought me here. Will would have had to go back up to the Resolute. How do you know he made it safely-“

Scarecrow turned swiftly and stared at Ben with that odd, densely populated face that meant he was hiding something. The surface was definite however. 

“I. You. Secure.” Scarecrow said. “Next in order. I _Resolute_ go. Ship. Move away. Success. I next in order you.”

“So the colonists are safe on Alpha Centauri,” Ben pressed, “Will’s Robot was able to jump them?” 

Something deep and red burned across Scarecrow’s face. Something hot, something the human had never seen before. Ben actually cowered against his restraints. That, that was rage, that was fury. But it only lasted a moment. Scarecrow jerked his head away, turning to reveal his spines extending and flexing with deep emotion. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben whispered. “I-“

But Scarecrow turned back to him and his face was clearly artificially calm. Ben could see the real affection there, but there were masses of tangled emotions beneath it. 

“No,” Scarecrow said firmly. “Error. I. Other Robot. Will Robinson. Safe. Gone.” 

Hot red fury sparked around the reference to Will’s Robot. The emotional markers of rage clearly separated from any reference to the human. Ben nodded mutely and Scarecrow deliberately shook out his entire body. It was beautiful. It almost distracted Ben enough to forget his questions. Almost, and it seemed Scarecrow could read his every thought. 

“Will Robinson.” Scarecrow finally said, and Ben belatedly realized that the human names were being spoken aloud. “Gone. Safe. Together. I. Come. You. Medical care.” 

“How did you get back?” Ben asked.

The question tasted flat and pointless on his lips. But it also seemed important somehow, something his mind wouldn’t let go. Ben felt his eyes focus on the tablet. Those were expensive. These thoughts were pointless. But no colonist would have willingly left something so valuable. Especially not a doctor. Ben’s eyes could make out the serpents twining around the staff on the back. Scarecrow suddenly slumped and his face, while still dense with emotions, looked wry. 

“No concealment,” Scarecrow said, flexing his upper talons in a gesture of unease. “ _Resolute_.”

He hesitated and then held his larger hands out in front of him. He flexed, creating a small fireball that exploded and puffed out of existence. Cold dread filled Ben but Scarecrow went on quickly. 

“John Robinson. Others. Here. Negative location _Resolute_.” He said. “I. Help. You. Many.” 

“Then how did Will?” Ben asked. 

Scarecrow’s face suddenly flashed with that deep, complex rage that had previously sprung up with the mention of Will’s robot. 

“It. Help. Will Robinson,” Scarecrow finally managed to get out. 

The concepts that surrounded the statement were more complex. Scarecrow was clearly having trouble controlling his thoughts. Whatever he thought of the rescue of the children Scarecrow had no affection for Will’s Robot. He seemed to express that he had no doubt that Will’s Robot would help Will Robinson to the best of his ability but there was clearly so much more to the concept that was beyond the human’s limited knowledge of the language of lights. Ben slumped against his restraints. 

“They made it safe,” he said softly, choosing to focus on the good thing. 

Scarecrow was already turning to leave. One of the things in the wall flexed and instead of just the under layer, reality itself warped. Or the door opened Ben realized as one of the things pulled apart great ropes of cables to open a slit that didn’t look wide enough for Scarecrow to fit through. But he did and it closed behind him.

Ben felt a sob catch in his throat and swallowed it down. Will and the rest of the children were safe. The rest of the colony had Scarecrow to protect them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how badly things had to have gone wrong to get things to this state, but it was far from the worst outcome. Ben felt sleep taking him and after everything that had happened he eagerly let it. 

Something chattered above him and Ben blinked up at it blearily. A task node was switching the feed from one IV bag to the next in line. Something about the label seemed a little different and Ben squinted up at it, only to have it leap into a focus so sharp that his mind seemed to white out from the over stimulation. Ben blinked away the sensation, closing his right eye. Then he opened it curiously and spent several fascinated moments focusing and unfocusing on the IV bag. He finally remembered he was doing this for a reason and stared at the writing on the bag. The synth level was even lower than the previous bag. Ben grimaced. As much sense as it did make to gradually wean him off of the pain killers as he healed, this wasn’t going to be a pleasant day. Or rather an unpleasant several days. He assumed Scarecrow had left enough IVs to last until he returned. 

Ben grimaced and swallowed down on a painful lump. He had nearly died. He had genuinely believed that he was going to die on that ring. Scarecrow had saved him. Now, at no little inconvenience Scarecrow was taking care of him. Ben stared up at the hanging bags of life giving fluid. He listened to the constant chattering of the donated parts. The pain in his chest came again. Scarecrow was literally tearing fragments of himself out to make Ben whole again. Ben couldn’t even begin to process how he felt about that. Still, he was stuck here for the time being. He had nothing but time to mull over his situation. All the mistakes he had made that had led him here. Ben took a deep breath and shook his head. He was turning over a new leaf; listening to Scarecrow, honoring his requests. His friend had only left him with two instructions. Heal, and ponder over his reasons to live. 

Ben felt a smile pulling at his lips as he thought of his wife and their boys. What would they think of this new him? Of the friend he was bringing home with him? In those early days Scarecrow had seemed fascinated to hear about the boys, about their life. It seems that interest had survived everything Ben had done. Ben felt the tightening in his heart again and forcibly refocused his attention. The boys might find his injuries frightening. However he would be coming back essentially a cyborg. If his boys hand inherited any of his interests at all that should offset at least some of the horror with fascination. He was mulling over this possibility when sleep came again. 

As Ben had foreseen the following days passed in a strange blur of crystal clarity. He would wake when the things around him began chattering in earnest. From that fact that his waking and sleeping cycles felt so natural and easy he assumed this place, whatever it was, drew its energy from the circadian cycle. The reality of how he could hear them dawned more slowly and gradually and felt rather painfully obvious once he had grasped it. At least one of his eyes had been replaced with some other visual organ. Perhaps something akin to Scarecrow’s own face. That meant at least one direct connection to his brain complex enough to carry visual images. Also the cables that were growing more recognizably a part of him every hour, their feedback beginning to sound less like separate voices and more like the pain and sensations from his natural limbs. These new additions to him somehow felt all of the other things around him. It was deeply disconcerting in the dim moments when he closed his eyes before he went to sleep. But like everything about this situation he was slowly growing used to it. 

Scarecrow returned in the night with most of one IV bag left. Ben woke to the sensation of the doors opening. He blinked away the dream he’d been having and smiled at his friend. Scarecrow had a backpack slung over one shoulder and his face was swirling with low grade concern. Ben might call it fretting in a human. 

“Welcome back,” Ben croaked out. 

Relief spiraled out over Scarecrows face at the greeting. He set the backpack down carefully and came over to Ben. His faced danced with a complex pattern Ben recalled from their very first interactions. Except now the whites and silvers glowed with power and health. It was simple focus and curiosity. Scarecrow was examining him. Ben waited patiently while Scarecrow started at the top of his head and gently began running his fingers though Ben’s hair. Wherever the bronze talons brushed over the donated cables and plates Ben felt that disconcerting connection, the wash of other. But like everything else he was getting used to that too. Meanwhile Ben decided to indulge in his own examination. Scarecrow fully healed was beautiful. The restored plates flexed and slid with every movement. Internal workings could be glimpsed for moments. However an irregularity caught Ben’s eye and he hissed. Scarecrow immediately pulled back and looked into his face with concern. 

“Query. Pain?” Scarecrow asked. 

“You’re injured!” Ben croaked out. “Freshly.” 

Whatever else he was going to say was lost in a fit of coughing. Scarecrow produced the spritzer bottle and gently pressed it to Ben’s lips. Ben accepted the moisture gratefully but refused to let go of his train of thought. 

“How were you injured?” he asked. 

Scarecrow hesitated, his face spinning thoughtfully as he tapped the water bottle against one thigh. Finally he gave a little nod and focused on Ben. 

“I. Plural. Violence. Will Robinson. Stop.” Scarecrow said.

Ben nodded slowly. 

“You were protecting the children from the other robots before they left,” Ben deduced. “I doubt there was much time left to make the jump after you got back to the _Resolute_.”

Scarecrow nodded and resumed his examination. 

“Thank you,” Ben said softly. 

Scarecrow responded with a soft caress along his shoulder. Ben realized that he could tell which parts of his body had been replaced by the way they reacted to Scarecrow’s touch. His organic flesh felt warm metal and careful touches. His new metal surfaces felt the familiar energy field and processed that as information. Scarecrow seemed satisfied with what he was finding. There was a thread of concern that flared up when Scarecrow came to the end of his original limbs. Ben grimaced when he felt the tale-tell response of living metal not four inches down his right thigh. So he was missing his dominant leg as well as his dominant arm, and eye. A wash of apology and concern came as Scarecrow gently squeezed his knee. Or whatever was now replacing his knee. Ben gave a snort. 

“I’m alive Scarecrow,” he whispered. “I still haven’t figured out how you managed that. I’m not going to complain because I lost a few appendages.”

Ben felt a flicker of unease from across the connection and then it passed as Scarecrow shifted to examining his organic leg. Or rather his mostly organic leg. If felt like he was missing at least one toe down there. Scarecrow finally let out a satisfied hum and stepped back. He focused on Ben’s face. 

“Analysis. Query?” Scarecrow asked. 

“I’m sorry?” Ben replied trying to parse the words he was seeing. 

“Ben,” Scarecrow said aloud, then in lights, “desire. Analysis?” 

“You mean do I want to know what all is wrong with me?” Ben hazarded. 

Scarecrow pulsed a relived affirmative. 

“Fire away,” Ben said with a nod. 

Scarecrow reached over and pulled up the medical tablet. He angled it and Ben realized Scarecrow was taking a high resolution image of him. Scarecrow spent a few moments tapping at the tablet and then held the screen up for Ben to see. 

“Saint Pete!” Ben gasped out, his remaining eye widening.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Ben Adler didn’t recognize the mostly human form secure to the angled surface. As he had suspected his right side was far more affected with most of the visible scorching peeking out from under the spreading plates and winding cables. He had lost his right arm just below the elbow. His right leg just below his hip. Gleaming bronze cables lay against, or in his flesh, running between the new limbs and up to his new eye. He was vaguely aware of mild disappointment in his new limbs. They were spindly and rather reminded him of some old art deco brass lamps he had seen in his grandmother’s house. However his attention quickly zeroed in on his face. Where his right eye had been a small oval of lights danced in a bronze rim.

Ben realized he was grinning like an idiot as he experimentally blinked his new eye, examining the effect this had on how he saw the image in front of him. Suddenly however the screen was yanked away. 

“Stop!” Scarecrow said. 

“Stop what?” Ben asked in confusion. 

“Light. Stop. Go. Stop. Go.” Scarecrow said gesturing at Ben’s new eye. “Negative function.”

Ben smiled weakly as he understood, feeling a faint thread of amusement that he had disturbed the alien robot. 

“It makes me look dead when I turn off my lights,” Ben said. 

Scarecrow pulsed an affirmative and replaced the screen. He zoomed the image in on Ben’s chest and Ben gave a small hiss. He hadn’t felt any pain from there but there were four coils of cable over his heart. The cables themselves were embedded nearly completely into his chest and it was fairly obvious that their ends went straight down to his heart. Now that he was aware of them he could hear the, two actually, he was looking at their leading and lagging ends, quietly chattering to the pulse of his heart. Ben took a deep breath and glanced up at Scarecrow with a wry smile. 

“Well, massive surges of electricity and human hearts don’t really mix,” Ben said. “I hope you didn’t waste anything critical of your own to fix that.”

Anger, real anger flashed in Scarecrow’s face and he turned abruptly away from Ben. Ben winced back in confusion. This strange relationship they had was beyond him in so many ways. It seemed he was doomed to offend his friend at every turn. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben began uneasily. 

Scarecrow’s body flexed, expanding in nearly every direction, and when he relaxed all of his plating lay smoothly over his body. A sigh, Ben suddenly realized. Scarecrow had just heaved a massive sigh. Scarecrow turned and came back, his face a complex tangle of blues and whites. He stepped firmly up to Ben and brought his face up to the human. One of the larger hands reached down and gently caressed the network of cables that led from Ben’s eye. Ben felt a wash of strong emotion. He gasped, but his attention was suddenly drawn to Scarecrow’s face. He saw a few words he recognized. There was the phrase, cherished one. There were the reds of threat analysis. There was anger. There was something Ben thought was bitterness. But those darker emotions were subsumed beneath an overwhelming concern, a concern so deep Ben had trouble identifying it as anything but love. He drew in a ragged breath. There was more. So much more. But it was all too much. Scarecrow pulled back and stared at him, his face simplified to a dancing exasperation. 

“Too much,” Ben allowed himself to admit with a weak smile. 

“Cherished one.” Scarecrow said, surrounding the term with reinforcing modifiers. “Now. Heal. Future. Talk.” 

Ben smiled weakly and nodded. 

“I suppose we can work the complicated stuff out later,” Ben agreed. “What did you have in mind for this visit?” 

Scarecrow gave him a nod and moved out of sight behind him. Ben heard the things behind him chatter animatedly for a moment, and then the cable that had been holding him to the surface suddenly released. There was a terrifying moment of falling and then Scarecrow was carefully cradling him, easing him into a sitting position even as the surface beneath him shifted to lay horizontally. Ben was suddenly far too distracted trying to find up to linger on his own guilt. 

Even without the flood of new sensations from his alien limbs the world swam. His center of balance was wildly different from what it had been and his brain rebelled against the flood of new sensations. When the world finally stopped swimming the first thing he became aware of was Scarecrow’s comforting mass supporting him, and the warm metal talons gently stroking his head. Ben kept his eyes closed and leaned into the comfort of the touches. He was aware of a soothing repetition coming through the contact. It was as if Scarecrow was murmuring to him. Ben felt that he wanted to stay like this for hours, but pain began gnawing at him and he attempted to sit under his own power. 

Ben winced as every fiber in his body protested. Scarecrow carefully removed his support, leaving a single hand holding Ben’s shoulder. Ben was entirely focused on keeping himself upright. His disused muscles strained and strange new sensations nearly overwhelmed him from his new arm and leg. They flailed frantically for a moment before coiling up to cling around the more confident flesh limbs they were now fused to. Ben was panting with exertion by now. The twinges of pain had turned to spasms and aches. Scarecrow reached out and caught his chin. 

“End.” Scarecrow said firmly. 

“I can stand more.” Ben protested. “I need to get my strength back.” 

“Yes,” Scarecrow said as his hands gently guided Ben back down to the bed. “Soon. Not now.” 

Ben wanted to protest but the few moments of exertion had drained him and he could offer no real objection. Scarecrow gave his head a gentle stroke and then bent to examine the cables coiled around his arm. The pain and sudden fatigue distracted Ben too much to focus on what exactly Scarecrow was doing, but the pain from that part of him at least eased slightly. Ben glanced over and watched the cables that had replaced his hand slowly uncoil as Scarecrow stroked them. Scarecrow glanced over at Ben and flashed a simple word Ben had never seen before. 

“What was that?” Ben asked. 

Scarecrow held up one of his smaller hands and tensed it, then relaxed it as he flashed the new word again. 

“Relax?” Ben hazarded. 

Scarecrow pulsed a yes and then turned back to easing Ben’s cables. 

“I’ll try,” Ben offered. 

He tried to remember the meditation techniques his wife had insisted he learn, but the pain, and the fatigue caught up with him and he must have fallen asleep. He woke to find Scarecrow bent over his new leg. Scarecrow was gently uncoiling the cable, stroking the tense metal with his talons. When the cable was back to its original length Scarecrow stood and glanced at Ben with a flash of regret in his face. 

“I wasn’t quite up to what you expected?” Ben asked with a weak smile. “Hardly the first time I’ve disappointed you.” 

Scarecrow’s face danced with irritation at that and he laid his spines down, tight to his back. Ben winced and glanced to the side. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

Scarecrow flexed and shook out his irritation. Then he stalked over to the back pack and pulled out a thermos. Ben blinked curiously as Scarecrow also pulled out a spoon and came over to him. Scarecrow broadcasted an order to the bed and the head rose smoothly to hold Ben up at a convenient angle for eating. Ben’s face suddenly lit up and his stomach gurgled in anticipation. He supposed the IVs had supplied all of his nutrients up to this point. Scarecrow twisted off the cap of the thermos and stared down into it his face sparking with interest. The smell was good, some vegetable mix. Scarecrow carefully tipped the soup into the cap and Ben eagerly reached for the spoon. Scarecrow looked at him a bit skeptically but handed the spoon over. Ben got it in his fingers but the fatigue stole the strength from him and the spoon slipped out of his fingers and clattered to the floor. Ben’s arm dropped back to his side and an overwhelming sensation of helplessness flooded him. He felt tears of frustration burning and turned his head away from Scarecrow. He heard his friend pick the spoon back up and felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Ben,” Scarecrow said. 

It had been so long since he had heard his name in that voice, and now it was so much stronger. Ben turned to face Scarecrow and tried to force a smile through his tears. Scarecrow reached out and gently stroked the back of one talon across his face, brushing away the tears. Something danced across Scarecrow’s face in simple words but Ben was too tired, or his eyes were too blurry to understand it. Scarecrow tilted his head to the side and simply settled for reaching his upper hands down and rearranging Ben as he pleased on the bed. He then held up the soup and dipped the spoon into it.

He held the soup up to Ben’s lips and Ben tried to accept it gratefully. To be this weak, this helpless, was something new to him and he felt more tears trickling down his face. Between bites of the soup, which was good, Scarecrow would reach over to brush the tears aside.

The fourth time that happened Ben apologized. Scarecrow paused in feeding him and simply stared into his face for a long moment. Scarecrow’s lights were deep and complex and seemed to indicate thoughtfulness more than anything else. Finally Scarecrow leaned forward and gently caressed the crown of Ben’s head with the lower side of his jaw. The gesture was oddly comforting and Ben leaned into it. Scarecrow then leaned back and stared intently at Ben. 

“I understand,” Scarecrow said, each word form clearly defined and emphasized with depth. 

The raw irony of the situation struck Ben like a blow. Yes, Scarecrow no doubt did understand. Ben gave a short bark of laughter, generating waves of pain that tore painfully through his body. Scarecrow reached his head up and rested his jaw carefully on Ben’s head until Ben had stopped laughing. 

“Thank you,” Ben finally managed to gasp out. 

Scarecrow gave his head one final nuzzle then leaned back and brought the spoon back up. Ben focused on eating and sometime in between bites he fell asleep. 

Ben woke to a familiar pressure in his bladder he went to roll over and get up, was mildly surprised when he could, and even more surprised when he fell off the bed. The sudden pain at the end didn’t come however. Strong hands caught him and lifted him gently back to the bed. Scarecrow looked down at him and amusement flickered around a complex stream of words. Ben only managed to grasp that Scarecrow had been watching him. The next several minutes passed rather awkwardly for Ben at least. Scarecrow seemed completely comfortably with all human bodily functions at this point. 

Afterwards he helped Ben practice sitting up again. Then they worked on getting Ben’s new hand to obey him. Ben was able to stay awake longer this time. Another meal of soup passed and several more rounds of training before Scarecrow re-secured Ben to the medical bed. Ben understood that he was too weak and helpless to be left unsecured, he understood as well that the colony at large needed Scarecrow’s protection. Still he did not look forward to the time of enforced idleness. Before Scarecrow left he pulled one of the wrist radios out of the backpack and secured it to the bed beside Ben’s head. He fiddled with the controls a bit and then stepped back with a hum of satisfaction. Ben reached up and found that he could reach the radio if he needed to. Ben smiled his thanks up at Scarecrow and his friend bent down to nuzzle at his head. 

“Stay, heal,” Scarecrow said. “I. Return. Soon.” 

“Will do,” Ben said with a yawn. 

He was looking forward to the prospect of plenty of sleep. The therapy Scarecrow was pushing him through was taxing. Scarecrow turned and left through the door. Ben relaxed back with a sigh and stared up at his new batch of IV bags. This situation was strange to say the least. Ben still didn’t know what had led to the destruction of the Resolute. He didn’t know how many of the colonists were still alive. But he had his friend back. Perhaps even, he only, truly had his friend for the first time. With Scarecrow fully functional on his own planet it wasn’t out of the question that he might manage to get them home to Alpha Centauri. Ben slipped off into dreams soon enough despite the aching pain and for the first time in a long time there was no nameless dread hanging over him when he met his wife on the river bank.


End file.
